


things we said in the sunlight

by banditchika



Category: Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, me rolling up to fe characters w Unfortunate Writing: get in yall ur not cishet anymore, spoilers for SoV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 17:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10995993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banditchika/pseuds/banditchika
Summary: Faye, Silque, and the truths that are unearthed beneath a blistering sun.





	things we said in the sunlight

The sun shines fiercely, as though seeking to banish the darkness that had touched Valentia through sheer force of heat and light. It’s so hot out that even Silque and the other members of the priory have been forced to shed their robes. 

They aren’t the only ones with that idea: when Silque steps out of the priory, little famine-touched children with their skin stretched thin over all-too visible ribs run through the streets, sweat gleaming on their brows. They’re smiling and reveling in their games, heedless of the scorching weather. 

Good. Silque smiles too, even as the sun beats harder down upon her. She lifts a hand to her eyes as she hurries through the town; darting past the laughing children, rushing down to the square. Silque and the priory’s other volunteers are handing out rations today. Though Celica and Alm are proving to be wiser and kinder by far than their predecessors--they are still young rulers, and far flung change will take years. It’ll be awhile yet before the people of Valentia are able to truly prosper. The servants of the cloth must find a new purpose now that Mila is gone _(a year after the fact, Silque still wracks her mind over the loss of her; something in her chest twisting at the new uncertainty, the ardency of her faith aimless without its goddess)_ ; and if their new calling is to fill the void that the Mother left in her wake, then so be it. Until Valentia’s new rulers can ease their people’s suffering, Silque will give as much aid as she is able: just as she always has. 

A crowd has formed in the center of the square. A woman with a soot-stained bandana around her head and arms as wide as a tree trunk unloads crates from a wagon, around which are the other members of the priory, as well as…

“Faye!” Faye is elbows-deep in a crate of dried shieldfish, her mouth falling open as she spies Silque shouldering through the crowd. She steps aside, making space for her to slide past. 

“Oh. Back at it so soon, Silque?” Faye hands a fish over to a man who crows his thanks and disappears into the square. There’s a smear of something dusty on her freckled cheek: from the fish and cargo, no doubt. “You sure are persistent. It seems like you just left!” 

“You’re right. It hasn’t been very long at all.” The sun beats down. That, combined with the press of the crowd--dozens upon dozens of hungry people with their palms open for what the priory can give--has made the atmosphere in the square suffocating. As unorthodox as it is, Silque is glad now for her loose shift and frock. She and the other clerics would be cooked in their own robes had they refused to shed their garb. Silque isn’t sure how Faye manages to stand the heat with her thick, flyaway hair and wool caplet. “I went to retrieve something.” 

“Really? What’d you get?” Faye doesn’t look up. She is as devoted to her work as she is to anything else, only stilling when Silque touches her arm. “Huh? Silque?” 

“Come with me.” Faye’s brow furrows. Silque tugs, insistent. “Come! We’ve been working since the sun rose. We more than deserve to rest.” 

“Well…” Faye looks down at the crate of shieldfish, then around her. Silque takes her in; the sweat beading her brow, the way her hair stands away from her face from the heat. The crease of Faye’s brow eases. She wipes her hands on her apron. “Oh, okay. You’re right,” Faye sighs, those cracked lips parting with a smile. “Now that you mention it, I am kind of tired. Wherever you want to go: lead the way!” 

Silque pulls her from the crowd. The other priory volunteers are too harried to notice them slip away--and those that do only nod. Since they’ve arrived in the village, there hasn’t been a single moment where they haven’t been immersed in their duties. The head priest assigns chores as soon as they roll from their cots, and with no other affairs in town to tend to besides charity, Faye and Silque take on even more work than any others in the priory. Faye throws all of herself into her duties; she is as diligent in labor as she was devoted in love, and idleness has always ill-suited Silque. 

But even the hardiest workers need respite. Silque leads them from the square, down the rows of houses and past the forge. Her grasp on Faye’s forearm slips as they go. To her surprise, Faye reaches to curl dainty fingers around her wrist, the grip gentle. 

It feels a bit like a victory; like a triumph. Silque smiles as she takes them beyond the final cluster of homes, to the fences that were once part of a barricade, to the long, lush summer grasses that have sprouted since the end of the drought. There’s no one to bother them here. The bustle of the town is as soft as the breeze that fans the grasses, and the dirt path stretching long and winding into the horizon is empty. The field is a spot of idyllic peace in a land still holding its breath, still recovering from the ravages of war and drought. They are alone here. Aside from the sun and whatever little lizards and scrabbling bugs might make their home in the grass, it’s just the two of them. 

Silque sits, folding her legs beneath her. Faye lays on her back at her side. Faye squints at the sky, a blue so bright that it’s almost painful to look at; the sun catches Faye’s lashes, a flutter of gold against cheeks dark with burn. Soon, the red will ease, revealing a gentle smear of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the swell of her cheeks. Silque’s always had an eye for details, and has been traveling with Faye for some time now besides; long enough to know that Faye will sigh and wrinkle her nose to keep from picking at the sunburn, and that she bemoans the freckles that Silque secretly wishes to trace.

Faye closes her eyes. An dragonfly buzzes, darting through the air in gentle arcs. Silque removes her wimple, dabbing sweat from her brow with the corner of it. The wind feels nice in her hair; to attribute these small pleasures to the Mother is a habit that Silque has yet to unlearn, but she’s beginning to appreciate them in a new light. 

The silence is companionable. Silque turns an ear to what chatter the nosy breeze carries to them. A grasshopper, fat from summer grass, hops onto Faye’s chest. Silque’s smile grows when Faye doesn’t so much as twitch. Once, at a priory they had stayed at during their long, long pilgrimage, Silque’s mother had showed her a flat, round board with shining globs of paint on its surface. Faye looks a bit like that palette now, with her tawny hair and browned skin; her red cheeks; her pink dress and dark shawl; the green of the grass around her and the grasshopper perched on her breast.

Its antenna flicks, taunting. Silque leans over to flick it off. Faye’s eyes fly open, liquid in the light of the sun. She sits up, scooting to press her back to the fencepost. Stalks of dried grass stick out of her hair. 

“Oh! Did I doze off?” 

“Not for very long, I think. How do you feel?” Faye presses the back of her hand against her cheek and rubs, wincing as it irritates the burn. Silque waits patiently. 

“Better. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you though. That kinda sucks.” 

“Little wonder that you did, however.” Silque shakes her head. “You’ve been working harder than even me! I’m not sure how you do it, Faye.” 

“Huh?” Faye wrinkles her nose. Silque isn’t sure if her burn itches, or if she’s confused. “What, like it’s hard? I mean… I just put my mind to things and focus. Then before I know it, everything’s done and I can move onto the next task.” 

“Would that others had your focus, then. Your diligence is very admirable. I don’t think I could have done even half of what we’ve accomplished on my own.” Faye grins at that, eyes crinkling. Silque returns the smile. “We’ve eased the suffering of so many people... still, I wish we could do more.” 

Faye sighs. “I suppose.” She turns her head to the sky, eyes scanning the horizon as they sometimes did. Occasionally, Silque wondered if Faye misses Ram Village; whether she’s waiting for something to come for her, or if her periodic disappearances were a hint of the wanderlust that Silque sometimes finds herself seized by. Faye is quiet for so long that Silque startles when her voice sounds again, soft and careful. 

“Silque… I think we’re doing all that we can. I mean, without the Mother--without the gods, there’s only us left. Human beings, that is. And--” Faye gestures at herself, at Silque; she picks at the hem of her apron, tapping the toes of her boots together. “It isn’t like we’re nobles or royalty or anything. We’re normal people, doing normal things to help other normal people. Not because we have to or because we’re responsible for all the bad things that have happened: but because we can and we _should_. And I think that’s pretty great.” 

“Oh?” Silque’s mouth falls open--a facial tic she never trained herself out of. They have been traveling across Valentia for a year now, lending their aid where it was been needed most. But aside from the occasional sympathetic comment, Faye reveals little about her thoughts on their altruism. That she still travels with Silque and labors without complaint ought to be taken as unspoken approval, but Faye’s innermost thoughts and motives have always been difficult to discern. “That’s… gratifying to hear.” 

Faye hums. She tilts her head and fixes Silque with a smile bright enough to shame the sun. “Yeah, well. You know. The gods might not be here to help people anymore, but you are. Even if you can’t do everything they could, you’ve still saved countless lives. That’s more than a lot of able-bodied people have done…” Faye’s tone sours. 

“... Or even _tried_ to do.” 

Silque reaches out, splaying a hand against her shoulder. How fiercely Faye’s feelings flare! She could be smiling one moment and sour the next, then end the very same conversation with a breezy goodbye and skipping feet. It was a dependable sort of honesty, even if Faye yet wrestled with things she refused to voice: things beyond Silque’s ken. But seeing that storm darken Faye’s brow on so beautiful a day is concerning. Silque would see her smile, if she could. 

Silence stretches between them as Faye chews on her thoughts. 

“I wish I’d done more too,” she finally declares, chapped mouth hooked low and firm.

“Oh?” Silque prompts, voice as soft as her namesake.

“When we were fighting. I wish I’d done more then.” Faye fists her hands in her apron, twisting. “When our journey began, Alm… he and everyone else left Ram Village without me. I was so upset!” This, punctuated with a hearty slap against the ground. Faye’s fingers curl, twisting a long stem of grass between her fingers. “But then Celica came, and I travelled with her for a while. Oh, it was a grand adventure, I thought. Finally, I could use what Sir Mycen taught me! And Celica wasn’t Alm, but she was _special,_ and my good friend too. It’s funny; I was so excited then that I can barely remember what we did. We fought a lot of brigands. Pirates? There was a necrodragon, I think.”

“Faye, I--wait, a _necrodragon!?”_

“No,” Faye muses. She isn’t frowning so severely, brow furrowed instead in recollection. “I think there were several necrodragons? Or were those gargoyles? They flew, either way.” 

Silque stares. Even after a year traveling together, Faye never fails to surprise her. She had known that Faye had accompanied Celica’s party before they’d rendezvoused at Zofia Castle, but Faye rarely spoke of their time together, and Silque hesitates to mention it, lest it bring up painful memories best left to heal in silence. 

“Well, that’s not the point.” Faye shakes her head, braids flying about her head. A rare sobriety tinges her eyes. “Celica did so much to help people, and I was only with her for a few weeks! By the time we reached Zofia Castle, there wasn’t a single pirate left sailing on the ocean between Novis and the port town… and sometimes I wonder…” Her voice stalls in her throat.

Silque has learned to wait out the silence. Faye would speak again when the thoughts in her head assembled themselves, and she appreciated being listened to more than she would having her words finished for her. Sure enough, Faye sighs, and finds her voice again. “If I weren’t so caught up in everything, in rushing to see Alm and everyone again... would I have been able to help more? Would I be able to remember more?”

“Faye…” Silque takes her hand, freeing the tortured blade of grass from Faye’s grip. There’s something tense about the line of Faye’s shoulders, as though she expects Silque to ridicule her, to dismiss her--or something as such. Silque’s heart aches to see the set of her jaw, the way her lips are pursed. 

“Pray believe me when I tell you that you are enough. You fought hard for the Deliverance, and you’re doing all that you can now. You have had a part in every life that you say I’ve saved since the end of the war.” Silque squeezes their joined hands and runs a thumb over Faye’s knuckles. “Whatever your reasons are now, you’ve helped many people without asking for even a bit of compensation. I find that very admirable.” 

Faye shrugs, hair falling low over her face. But her hand squeezes Silque’s, once, twice, thrice. Faye regains some of her cheer when she lifts her head again. Her eyes flicker across Silque's face, and it's though someone has lit a lamp behind her face: a laugh spills from her lips, bright and warm. “Those are some words. You’re a good person, Silque--even if you humor me too much.” She pulls from Silque to clasp her hands together, folding them in her lap. “So! What’d you go back to the priory to grab, anyways?” 

“Ah. I’d almost forgotten.” Silque fishes in the pocket of her frock. She pulls out a small bundle wrapped in a worn handkerchief, which had once been embroidered with pink flowers. Now the stitches have faded and frayed, but the cloth is still soft to the touch. Carefully plucking at the handkerchief, Silque spreads it out on the space between them. Faye’s eyes go round. 

“Are those… cookies?” 

“Only two of them, I’m afraid--but yes! A young woman came by the priory the other day; she’d scrounged up some butter and honey and made some treats for her children. I happened by her when she was struck by the spirit of charity.” Silque bites back an instinctive blessing to a departed goddess and nudges the sweets closer to Faye. “I hoped to share them with you.” 

“Wow.” Faye’s hand lingers in the air, as if she believed that the cookies would crumble to nothing if she so much as touched them. “I haven’t had any in…” She frowns. “Since before the drought.” 

“Far too long.” Silque shakes her head in mock-sorrow, hand already dipping back into the pocket of her frock. She pulls out a waterskin. “I’ve brought something else to sweeten the treat--if you’ll pardon the wordplay.” Faye laughs at that, and laughs even harder at the waterskin Silque drops onto her lap. 

“Tea?” she says, bringing it up to her nose. 

“A bit lukewarm now, but you’ve a fondness for it, haven’t you?” Silque tugs at the corner of the handkerchief. “I remember you drank a pot rather vigorously one morning, during the march.” 

Faye’s tongue pokes out between her teeth. There’s a chip in the incisor, perfectly aligned with the thin scar spiderwebbing down her lip, across her chin. “Wait, when was that…?” 

“The exact day escapes me. It was during Florestym, I believe.” Silque settles back on her hands as Faye muses. She takes her cookie from the handkerchief, careful to catch the crumbs on her palm. When Faye isn’t looking, she’ll lap them up. Very undignified, but even a woman of the cloth should be allowed some pleasures. “How is it, Faye?” 

“Huh?” The crease between Faye’s brow eases as quickly as it had come. She stoppers the waterskin, scooping up the cookie and handkerchief in her palm. Her eyes widen. “Oh, wow!” 

Silque can do little more than hum. The woman is a talented baker. If Silque sees her again before they leave for the next town, she’d be certain to thank her. A cookie is such a small thing, but it’s a comfort to have sweet things in a world that has endured so much. 

“Silque?” She opens her eyes. Faye’s soft mouth is swept up in a smile. “Thank you for this.” 

“For the cookies and tea? Oh Faye, that’s nothing you should thank me for.” 

“No, I mean: for being so patient. For going out of your way to do all of this.” Faye sweeps her hand out, gesturing to the town, the field; the two of them. “It took me awhile to to notice, but you’ve always been looking out for me. Even back then. So I…” She shrugs, strangely bashful. “I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate it, all these little things you do. It’s really nice.” 

“Oh, it’s alright. Thank you for saying so.” Embarrassment burns warm in her cheeks. Faye has always been blunt, whatever quiet thoughts she kept squirreled away in her head notwithstanding; but to have the force of that honesty directed towards her in earnest appreciation is a bit overwhelming. “It’s nothing to thank me for. We’re friends, are we not? I enjoy your company as much as you appreciate mine.” 

Faye blinks. Silque's words seem to have knocked the coherency from her. Faye's eyes go wide and round, mouth falling open in a gentle ‘o’. The shock in her face sends a little ball of hurt to Silque’s stomach, like being clipped by a blow of miasma. Was that truly such a surprise to hear? 

Before Silque can so much as open her mouth to speak, Faye’s eyes go shuttered, as dark and unreadable as a mire. Her mouth thins and tenses, and for a moment Silque is reminded of their very first conversation; how bluntly Faye had dismissed her, scurrying away as if she couldn’t bear to look at Silque’s face. 

Then just as quickly, the shadows in Faye’s eyes are banished as the force of her smile curves them into dark crescents. Silque reels, like she’s missed a line in her prayers or tripped over a stray stone in a sanctuary. 

“Well geez, thanks! Hearing something like that sure does brighten my day!” Faye leaps to her feet. The waterskin falls from her lap, and Silque catches it just before it can hit the grass. Faye doesn’t seem to notice, brushing crumbs from her apron and grass from her hair. “Anyways. We’ve been gone awhile, haven’t we? I’m going to go back first. I’ve rested enough, I think--” 

“Faye? Faye?” 

“--And evening is coming! There’ll probably be more hungry people. I should go help.” Faye wrings her hands. Her grin is wide, wide, wide, every tooth bared. “Just stay and rest up, Silque; don’t worry about a thing!” Faye whirls away. In her haste, her caplet has slipped from her shoulders. It falls away entirely when Faye rushes through the grass. “See you at dinner! I’ll save you some bread!” 

“Wait, _Faye!”_ She doesn’t so much as slow, ashy braids trailing behind her. Silque sighs. “I’ve lost her again.” 

She gathers Faye’s discarded caplet. Silque should be accustomed to Faye running off without warning by now, but rarely does she leave mid-conversation. Silque can’t deny that she’s concerned; but at least they’d be seeing each other later in the day. There were times where Faye simply disappeared without a word, and Silque would wring her hands with worry until she’d clamber through a window, blinking owlishly, leaves sticking out of her hair and clothes. 

Still, as concerning as her habit was, Silque couldn’t begrudge Faye her space; not when there were still times when the poor thing seemed fit to rip her hair out from frustration, wrestling with something that creased her brow to think of. Perhaps one day she would feel comfortable enough to confide in Silque; but until then, Silque would offer Faye her ear and her sleeve, just as she had during the war. 

The comfort Silque provides can hold no candle to the presence of a goddess’s. She is no omniscient deity; but if she could ease some of the pain that dulls Faye’s eyes; if her presence can be a balm for whatever troubles Faye has enmired herself in, then that would be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> anyways, after the events of SoV faye travels with silque, unlearns some very bad no good compulsory heterosexuality and internalized homophobia, works out her identity issues and war trauma, and then she n silque breathlessly confess their love on the back of a pegasus, well known as an FE gay icon ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
